The Lone Survivor of Vault 11: A Fallout New Vegas Story
by SeeAverageGeek
Summary: After the traumatic events of Vault 11 a mysterious man emerges into the Wasteland as the lone survivor.


The Lone Survivor

By SeeAverageGeek

Chapter 1: A Step in the Right Direction

"No, NO, NO WAIT!" His plea was drowned out by the sound of four gunshots echoing off the walls and escaping out into the night air. Blood, pieces of brain, and fragments of skull splattered the floor and his face. Letting out a broken empty sigh the lone survivor of Vault 11 bent down to pick up one of the dropped weapons. He walked outside, raising the pistol to his temple he squeezed his eyes shut and contemplated whether or not he should join his vault mates in resignation from the horrors he had just lived through.

No, that's just it, he LIVED! A sense of some unknown purpose urged him to continue on. He didn't know what terror awaited him outside the vault but it was nothing compared to the nightmare that these "normal" people had just inflicted on each other and themselves. The horrors that the entire population of Vault 11 had been forced into as some twisted experiment by Vault-Tec.

"Commitment to humanity…" he said to himself.

"A SHINING EXAMPLE!" he screamed as he fired four shots into the empty giant circular doorway of the vault. The bullets echoed from the cavernous opening of Vault 11, where his four friends now laid dead.

Dropping to his knees he slumped into broken sobs. He didn't know when consciousness had slipped away, but he found himself sealed back inside the vault staring at a sea of dead faces. They reached out for him, their mouths twisted in silent screams of torment. He heard nothing. He felt nothing. He awoke with a jump to a sudden sharp pain in his arm. Some kind of rat-like creature momentarily scuttled away before attempting to reengage with its breakfast. The Lone Survivor picked up his pistol and fired clumsily eventually putting two rounds into his would-be attacker. He slowly stood to his feet surveying the inhospitable landscape stretching out before him. Picking up the backpack he had prepared prior to the tragedy of last night he fished out a compass, holding it up he looked at the four cardinal directions.

"Which way should I go?"

WEST: 

Walking southwest the Lone Survivor of Vault 11 happened upon a single building surrounded by some collapsed power lines. The building must have been some kind of power station before the Great War. He entered the building, searching around; unsure of what exactly he was looking for until settling in his mind to camp for the night inside.

The next morning he decided to head back to Vault 11 and regain his bearings. As he stepped outside the door he looked to the horizon and saw what looked like a pack of dogs roaming around. One of the dogs lifted its' nose, moving it up and down. After a distant bark the pack of animals started running toward him. The closer they got he saw they weren't dogs but very large coyotes. Darting back inside he slammed the door shut. The pack reached the door jumping up and down, pawing at it and barking furiously. He barricaded the door and looked around wracking his brain for any way out of this. On the northwest wall above a control panel the Lone Survivor saw a window. He'd have to pick off the coyotes one by one. He smashed out a small square of glass, scrapping the barrel of the gun along the edges to prevent his arm from being cut by any remaining shards of glass, and then started shouting to attract the animals. Predictably they came running to investigate the noise. He pointed the barrel of his pistol out of the square hole carefully aiming at the closest canine. He squeezed off a shot striking the coyote in the back, ripping a bloody hole through the animal. Seeing the aftereffect of a bullet through their alpha's body the remaining coyotes dashed off in the direction of the hills that served as the backdrop for the substation. _Looks like those shooting lessons in the vault weren't pointless after all_.

"Run for the hills you bastards," he shouted.

Jumping from the control panel he was standing on to the floor he began laughing; a desperate laugh from a man out of his depth, teetering precariously on the edge. Lifting the garage door he exited the building glancing around to ensure the wild animals hadn't returned for revenge. The Lone Survivor made his way back to Vault 11.

NORTH:

The Lone Survivor continued wandering north passing the intersection of Highway's 93 and 95. He eventually came to a makeshift shack built from corrugated metal resting against an outcropping of rock. There was a dim light flickering from inside. He debated chancing a knock on the door, but it was now growing darker and he figured he would have a better chance with whoever was inside rather than whatever lurked the Mojave at night. Knocking on the door there was a sudden commotion as the person inside fumbled around for something.

The voice of a man called out, "Who is it?"

"I'm friendly, just needing a place to hole up for the night."

"Well, hole someplace else! I won't give this roof over my head up without a fight. I built this shack with my own hands so it'll be over my dead body that anyone takes what little I have," the man yelled.

"I'm not taking anything from anyone. I'd just rather not become some creatures midnight snack out here. Please, I can give you some supplies as payment."

"Hmm, you have any caps?" the man asked.

"What? What does that mean?" he responded, confused.

He heard footsteps and the door swung open. The Lone Survivor was face to face with the barrel of a shotgun. Behind the barrel was an older man with a grey beard and dirty, grey hair reaching his shoulders.

"Well, why didn't you say you were one of those vault dwellers?"

"What gave me away?" he said looking down at his yellow and blue jumpsuit; the standard outfit for all vault citizens.

"What's in the bag?"

"Four pistols with ammo, a grenade, bobby pins, a screwdriver, a thin pallet, a knife, a compass, a bottle of Nuka-Cola, some food and purified water. I also have another pistol tucked into my belt," he replied.

"Good Lord son, is that a magical bag? Listen, if you let me hold on to those weapons for the night you can stay. You can never be too careful."

"I understand, agreed," the Lone Survivor replied handing over his bag and pistol to the old man who was now setting his shotgun down.

"Come on in," the old man responded taking the pistol and placing it in the bag.

In the tiny shack there was a pallet, and a small nightstand with a lantern sitting on top. The old man removed the pallet from the bag and tossed it to the Lone Survivor.

"Name's George Kerr."

"Thanks for letting me sleep here for the night, George."

"Yeah, it's fine. You don't see many vault dwellers' wandering around the Mojave. From what I've heard about you folk you're not like most of the people that have been in the Wasteland afr too long. There seems to come a point where people no longer care about humanity anymore. Maybe the fear makes them that way; the desperate desire to survive perhaps. Either way, people from the vault are still too wet behind the ears as they say. Anyway, what's your story?"

"A shining example," he whispered to himself, quick glimpses of blood and gun shots piercing his thoughts.

"What?" asked George, squinting his eyes and tilting his head forward.

"Nothing, I don't feel like talking about it if it's all the same to you," he replied, shaking the thoughts away.

"Fine, fine. We can talk about something else."

"What about you Mr. Kerr? How have you maintained your humanity?"

"Don't know that I have. I keep to myself mostly now since my wife and baby boy left, and if you had been anybody else I might have blown your head from your shoulders. I do get lonesome and loneliness can break you for sure. Who knows, maybe I've always been broken. "

"It kind of seems the whole world is," the Lone Survivor replied.

"That's mighty grave talk coming from someone who just left a sheltered world," the old man responded indignantly.

"YOU HAVE NO CLUE WHAT I HAVE BEEN THROUGH!" he shouted suddenly. The old man quickly snatched up the shotgun and aimed it at the Lone Survivor.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to lose my temper like that. It's just; can we please talk about something else?"

"Sure, just calm down okay? It would be a shame to have to drag your body outta my shack," Kerr replied.

The two men conversed long into the night, discussing their lives before the Great War and how it all went wrong. Both men seemed to simply enjoy being with another human being. Listening to the old mans' stories the Lone Survivor was beginning to realize just how lonely the Wasteland could be and how rare friendly exchanges were. The next morning the two shared a breakfast of Sugar Bombs and purified water before parting ways. The Lone Survivor decided to head back south and try a different direction.

SOUTH:

Heading south the Lone Survivor came to a large expanse of dried and cracked earth. In the distance a large structure could be seen rising above the horizon.

 _It's a bit of a walk but I should see what's in that building. Might be some supplies or a settlement_ , he thought.

Walking across the dried up lake bed he spotted some small creatures crawling around in the distance. Continuing to walk forward he realized the things in the distance had spotted him and suddenly looked to be scurrying towards him. As they got closer the Lone Survivor's eyes widened. The monstrosities crawling toward him were not so small. They looked like giant fire ants. Turning to run he tripped on a chunk of lifted earth falling to the ground. The giant ants quickly closed the distance between them. Scrambling to his feet the Lone Survivor took off in a sprint back towards Vault 11. Pulling the pistol from his belt he took wild shots at the monsters that were hot on his tail. Attempting to utilize the Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System on his Pip-boy he realized to his dismay that it must've broken when he fell. Firing blindly over his shoulder and gaining a bit of luck he struck the closest ant in its head blasting off one of the antennae and sending it into a frenzy. This bought him some much needed time as the huge creature started spinning and plowing into the other ants slowing them down. The fire ants were still snapping at each other and running around in circles in a confused frenzy as the Lone Survivor made his way back to Vault 11 leaving the building across the dry lake for someone else to discover.

EAST: 

Eastbound and down the Lone Survivor from Vault 11 trudged across the hot terrain of the Mojave. Even after all these years the air still smelled of burnt Earth. Maybe that was just the result of being in a desert though. He came to a hilltop and gazed out over the valley and beyond. Further east he saw what looked like a small town. Pulling out a bottle of Nuka-Cola and taking a swig he contemplated on whether or not he should make for the town. His decision was abruptly aided by the sound of a distant roar from something very large behind him to the west.

 _To hell with whatever that is!_

Not wanting to meet the creature face to face he headed straight toward the town. Broken glass from windows littered the empty streets replaced by hastily installed boards on the buildings that remained. The acrid wind gusted through the barren alleyways. It reminded the Lone Survivor of the Westerns he and his father watched when he was a child. The place was empty, a ghost of a ghost town. Walking to the closest building he stepped quickly across the threshold. A strange, quickening beep resounded in the hollow room before abruptly being punctuated by a loud and painful explosion that knocked him off his feet and showered him with debris. Struggling to his feet he checked his body for any missing limbs or gaping holes. Luckily the trap was poorly engineered or else the whole "struggling to his feet" thing would not have happened.

"Gonna have to keep my eyes open for traps from now on," he muttered to himself while inspecting his wounds. He heard the distinctive click of a hammer being drawn back. Feeling the cold steel press against the back of his neck removed any shred of doubt that what he heard was indeed a gun.

"Yeah, you should keep your eyes open for a lot of things," came the voice of a woman. Her voice was dry and tired.

Almost as if by instinct he raised his hands in a sign of submission to his miserable circumstances.

"Who are you and what are you doing here," she asked, still pressing the revolver to the back of his head.

"I'm no one, and I'm just looking for any supplies that might've been left behind."

"Yeah, and I bet you'd be willing to do anything for those supplies, huh?"

"I'm too much of a coward to do anything."

"Turn around slowly!" she demanded.

She took a step back still aiming the weapon at him. She was shorter than her voice projected and was bordering on the thin side of malnourished. Even still she projected a sense of strength that Franklin had only seen once before. They looked at each other in silence while the dry wind rustled the debris and trash in the room. The silence was interrupted by a distant rumbling. They both looked toward the door and the sound of the rumbling as if expecting the source to suddenly reveal itself. Their eyes returned to each other's, a look of confusion on his face, a look of concern on hers. She lowered the gun and hissed a command to follow her. They quickly retreated to a room upstairs. Inside the room there were empty bottles of Nuka-Cola, boxes of ammunition, a dozen cans of Cram, two boxes of Sugar Bombs, and a mattress. They hid behind a counter near the back of the room. Squatting down he saw that the counter had been reinforced with another two mattresses. She scrambled back out into the room grabbing the ammunition and returned to the makeshift barrier. Slowly peering through a window her eyes widened. The sound of the motorbike engines stopped.

"Dammit, it's Raiders!"

"What are Raiders?" he whispered.

"Are you serious?"

She noticed his vault suit for the first time.

"You're a vault dweller? I guess that explains why you seem like you're dream walking. Unfortunately that also means you aren't going to be much help in a fight."

"Thanks for the compliment," he replied sarcastically. "But I can hold my own."

Reaching into his bag he pulled out his 10mm hand gun.

"You really should have that on you and ready to bite all the time," she said.

"Thanks for the tip. So, what are Raiders? I assume from all the running and hiding they aren't exactly on the friendly side."

"You could say that. You could also say they are roaming packs of murderers, thieves, and rapists."

"Well, at least they're not trespassers. We should be safe and sound up here," he joked.

"Do you always make jokes when you're about to be murdered?"

"Wait, what? I thought rape was an option?"

"Shut up, they're walking this way," she hissed.

He checked his clip and loaded two more bullets. She reached underneath the counter and removed a rifle that had been taped on the underside. He stole a glance of her as she put the revolver in the back waistband of her tattered pants.

"Considering I might be dying very shortly, can I get your name," he whispered.

Not taking her eyes from the doorway, a smirk played at the corner of her mouth, "Maybe I'll tell you if we survive."

"Fair enough."

"Shhh, I think they're in the building."

Downstairs they heard the voice of one of the Raiders.

"Fred, Kurt you two check upstairs while I rummage down here."

The sounds of footsteps carried up the stairs. Still ducking behind the barrier they waited in silence. One of the Raiders went right and the other walked to the entrance of the room.

"Hey Kurt, found some supplies. Looks like someone might be camping out up here."

She tapped him on the shoulder and mouthed _3…2…1_. At here signal they both popped up and opened fire on the unsuspecting Raider. He fell dead before he knew which direction the bullets were coming from.

"Fred, what was that?!"

The second Raider came running but stopped just before the doorway.

"Fred, you okay?"

"Fred's dead and unless you want to share his fate I suggest you all get the hell out of here!" she shouted from behind the counter while they both reloaded.

"Oh lady, we aren't going anywhere until after we put you on a spit and cook you over a fire!" Fred replied savagely. "Jones, get up here!"

"Already here stupid," Jones snorted.

"She shot Kurt man!"

"Thanks for the update," Jones replied. "Listen up, we aren't going let you kill one of ours and get away with it. Ah, who am I kiddin' even if you hadn't shot Kurt we're still hungry. How about you make this easy for us and we'll kill you really quickly. We'd be willing to forego the entertainment of a slow, agonizing death. Whadya' say?"

She replied with three bullets through the dry wall. One lucky bullet caught Fred in the right shoulder causing him to shout out in pain. They heard three more sets of footsteps running up the stairs.

"Any of you have a grenade?" asked Jones as three more Raiders joined them in the hallway.

"No, but I got a Molotov," one replied.

"Give it to me and one of you get Fred the hell out of here. His whining is breaking my concentration. Okay, looks like we're gonna just cook you where you are. Hand me the lighter!"

Without warning the Lone Survivor reached into his bag, removed a grenade pulling the pin and throwing it into the hallway.

"Watch out! Grena…"

The Raider was interrupted by the loud bang of the grenade exploding in the hallway. The explosion set the Molotov on fire and the hallway erupted in flames and the screams of the Raiders. Downstairs, Fred and the Raider that helped him down the stairs ran out of the building.

"Well, that was effective," she said.

"How are we going to get out of here though?"

Rummaging inside one for the drawers behind the counter she pulled out a makeshift rope made with pieces of cloth tied together.

"Wow, are you always this prepared?"

"Grab the supplies!" she yelled, ignoring him.

She tossed the rope through the window and tied the other end to a piece of exposed pipe in the wall. The fire was spreading quickly now through the upstairs. He tossed the supplies out of the window and steadied the rope as she shimmied down. Climbing out of the window clutching the makeshift rope he began his descent. Halfway down the rope came loose and he fell to the ground twisting his ankle.

"Are you okay, can you walk?"

"No, but I can limp," he scoffed.

Suddenly the sound of a bullet ricocheting off the near-by shell of a car snapped them back to the reality of their situation. The remaining two Raiders had taken up position behind a hill and were firing at them from a distance. They quickly took shelter behind the car. There was no denying the fact that the Raiders were in a far more advantageous position then they were.

"We're too exposed here," she said.

"I'll cover you while you make a run for the back of the building," he replied pulling a semi-automatic rifle from his bag.

"What else do you have in there?"

"Some duct tape, a kitchen sink, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree. Okay, on the count of three you make a run for it. One, two, three, go, go!"

He opened fire, aiming toward the hill where the Raiders were. The bullets kicked up the dirt in front of them causing the men to duck quickly behind cover. When he saw that she had safely reached the cover of the building he stopped firing. The Raiders blindly fired their pistols over the top of the hill coming nowhere near him with their gun fire. He knew they had to reload and took advantage of the brief pause to run for the building. His injured ankle slowed him considerably and one of the Raiders was able to squeeze off a shot before he made it to cover. A bullet struck him in the calf as he leapt behind the building. Clinching his leg he rolled around in pain gritting his teeth.

"Hold still, I'm going to apply a Stimpak," she said pulling one from her bag. "There ya go, all better now."

"Uh, yeah, something like that, thanks."

"We have to get away from this building before the whole thing burns to the ground."

"Look, we can hide in that dumpster," he stated, pointing.

"No," she said. "It's still too close to the building. We might end up roasting for them in there."

"Well, that's disturbing. Okay that other building is close enough to run to without being spotted."

"Yeah, but what if the fire spreads to it?"

"I don't think we have much of a choice."

They quickly darted to the back door of the other building being careful not to be spotted by the Raiders.

"Damn, it's locked," she said.

"Let me give it a try," he replied, pulling a bobby pin and screw driver from his bag.

"Seriously, you're like a bag lady with that thing."

A few seconds and a couple broken bobby pins later he picked the lock and pulled the door open. Safely inside they started looking around for somewhere to hide up and take cover. The room looked to be an abandoned coffee shop. Some old, yellowing, unidentifiable pictures with broken frames still clung desperately to the walls. Near the back where they had entered there were three storage lockers lined up against the wall. He started searching for anything that might help them. Inside the lockers he found two cans of Cram, three boxes of 10mm ammunition, two bottles of purified water, some ruined magazines, and a Stimpak.

"I've been holed up in this town for a week and completely missed these lockers. I thought I had found everything worth finding here."

"I would have figured any supplies would have been used up a long time ago," he replied.

"A lot of the times it's stuff left behind by other survivors that, err, stopped surviving."

Outside they heard one of the Raiders shouting.

"Hey, wherever you took off to, I hope you know we aren't leaving here until you're dead! We will hunt you down and kill you in the most painful way we can imagine and we have real good imaginations."

"You're right, these Raiders are not very pleasant at all," the Lone Survivor jested. "Listen, you stay here and I'm going to see if I can get a good angle from the upstairs window."

"Why should I stay here hiding when I am just as capable of taking out these sadistic pricks?"

"Calm down, 'Rosie the Riveter,' it's so that if I miss you'll have better angle to take them out if they run this way," Franklin replied.

"Okay, I guess that makes sense."

He silently climbed the stairs to the second floor. Creeping up to the window facing the direction of the Raiders he slowly peeked over the bottom of the window frame. He could clearly see the two Raiders sitting behind the small mound. From this angle he could get a clear shot on them, but something in his mind made him pause. He could hear a small voice of protest echoing in his brain. With a sudden flood of anger he quieted the voice and took aim at the men. In that moment he hated them. He hated them with all he had in his heart. He wanted them dead. For a split second these two men were to blame for all the wrong in the world; for the bombs, for Vault 11, for his friends, all the evil he had experienced. He steadied his shaking hands, and fired a shot.

The once more able bodied Raider dropped like a sack of dirty laundry. His previously injured companion gapped in horror at the bloody mess that used to be his partners head, now an exploded melon of gore. He turned and scrambled on all fours futilely trying to escape the inevitable. The inevitable pierced his back and exploded out the front of his chest like a prisoner trying to escape captivity. The Raiders would not be feasting on them tonight, but the birds or Mole Rats would have their fill of Raider meat tonight. The rage inside him cooled and slithered away back down into the recesses of his heart. He made his way back downstairs to his new companion who was still aiming toward the empty street in anticipation.

"Well, I take it from your loud stroll down the stairs that our Raider problem has been handled?" she said.

"Yeah, its' been handled."

"In that case," she said standing to her feet and extending her hand, "My name is Abigail Corinth."

Shaking her hand awkwardly he replied, "My name is Franklin."

"Nice to officially meet you Franklin."

"Likewise."

"Well, nothing stirs up hunger quite like defending yourself from murderous cannibals! How about we make camp for the night and eat some of that delicious Cram or maybe some Dandy Boy Apples?"

"Sounds good, but maybe a bit further down the street, I don't feel like sharing with whatever is going to come and enjoy a late night Raider snack."

"Good point," she replied.

They gathered their supplies and walked further down the road stopping at the most secure looking building they could find. After fortifying the building as much as they could they built a fire and cracked open two cans of Cram and a box of Dandy Boys to share for desert. He didn't miss much from the vault, but he did miss the food. He never thought in a million years he would ever miss that tasteless crap, but here he was eating mystery meat from a can and missing Samantha's famously flavorless bean soup. They exchanged pleasantries and the typical "getting-to-know-ya's" for a little while before both slipping off into much needed rest. For the first time since leaving Vault 11 Franklin's sleep was free from nightmares.

Chapter 2: Respite

"So, what's the plan for you now?"

Abigail stood stretching, revealing her bare midriff. He admired the contour of muscles tapering down into a V shape. Looking away before she caught him in secret admiration Franklin replied;

"I dunno, maybe head east and get away from this place. What about you?"

"Actually, I was thinking of doing the same thing. I can't imagine it being any better back west. Plus, ya know, the whole travelling through a giant desert thing doesn't sound very appealing."

"Oh, come on now, who doesn't want to walk through miles of scorching, dry desert wasteland?" he jested.

They grinned dumbly at each other until the awkwardness of the silence overtook the moment.

"Well, would you be up for a travelling companion?" she asked.

"That would be nice."

The two silently gathered their things and set out northeast from Boulder City deciding to take the Great Basin Highway. They passed by the frequent tourist signage for Hoover Dam and other than the occasional Mole Rat or Bloatfly the trip was quite uneventful. They eventually came across a travelling salesman. During their exchange of caps for purified water, Stimpaks, and ammo the salesman mentioned a small settlement near Hoover Dam where they might seek food, booze, and maybe a dirty mattress to sleep on for the night. The policing force there was well armed and so the settlement was mostly safe from Raiders or Super Mutants. It was strange to Franklin that these things even existed let alone that they were common knowledge.

Throughout the journey as Abigail brought him up to speed on how things were in the world of the Wasteland he couldn't help but feel like a fish out of water, desperately gulping for a breath. He often had to fight the thought that he would have been better off putting a bullet in his brain. Most of the time he could hide his fear and depression, but occasionally Abigail could sense it in him. She was very good at putting him at ease though. He was very grateful to have her as a companion.

Just before nightfall they reached the settlement. There was a crude fence with a single gate around a small camp of wanderers with the security personnel having a separate area in the remaining cement structures that used to make up the dam's maintenance areas.

"Halt! Who goes there?" A man shouted from behind the rickety gate.

"Why are you talking like that Bill?" asked a female voice in a loud whisper.

"Quiet Hilary, I gotta make sure they ain't Raiders or somethin'!"

"No one says, 'Halt, who goes there,' Bill," she replied mockingly. "And if they was Raiders they'd probably shoot you for sounding like some damned fool!"

"Hello?" yelled Franklin.

"So are ya Raiders or are ya friendlies?" Bill called out.

"Bill, do they look like Raiders to you? And if they was Raiders they sure as hell wouldn't tell ya would they?"

"Good God woman, would you shut yer yapper and let me do my job?"

"No, we aren't Raiders. We're just seeking some shelter for the night," replied Abigail, interrupting their argument.

The gate creaked open and they were greeted by an elderly couple.

"Hi, my name is Bill and this is my wife Hilary."

"Nice to meet you," replied Abigail.

"Likewise," replied the woman. "Bill, would you stop looking them up and down, can't ya see they're friendlies."

"Can't be too careful these days," Bill said with a snort, continuing to size them up cautiously. "Now if you so much as even cough in the wrong way you'll be outta here faster than you can say 'Nuka-Cola!'"

"Oh Bill, stop trying to sound so tough. Come in folks and let me show you around."

As they made their way through the camp they saw merchants selling food, medical supplies, clothing, weapons, ammo, and armor. From somewhere near the end of the camp wafted the smells of various kinds of meat cooking. Franklin's mouth started to water despite the fact that the meat was probably from a Bloatfly or radiated lizard. The elderly woman filled them in on the history of the camp and their plans to move closer to the Las Vegas settlement at some point in the future.

"This camp gets too many visits from Deathclaws' and they're ferocious little buggers," Hilary stated.

"I don't think 'little' is the term I would use. Maybe terrifying, or large, or horrific buggers would be more accurate?" replied Abigail.

"Either way they're hard as hell to kill and they come round these parts all too often," Bill interjected.

"Well, this is where we leave you folks. If you need a place to stay go talk to Sammy next to the meat tent. It's just over that a-way," Hilary stated pointing toward a large, rickety looking wooden structure.

"Well, thank you so much for your help and showing us around," replied Abigail.

"Yes, we'll try not to cough the wrong way while we're here," Franklin said smiling at Bill.

"Uh huh," Bill grunted and turned to walk away but not before extending his middle finger in a gesture that suggested he didn't appreciate Franklins' sarcasm.

Abigail and Franklin walked toward the large wooden shack in hopes of finding a place to sleep for the night. Stepping into the shack the smell of ammonia and human musk hit them in the nostrils. Facing them as they walked in was a provisional check-in desk. To their right were three rows of cots and mattresses maybe two feet apart. There looked to be about 30 beds in total. Some were sitting empty, while some already contained dozing bodies. Franklin and Abigail looked at each other and shrugged. They approached the counter and noticed a bell with a note attached that read "Ring Me." Franklin struck the top of the bell letting out a loud _ding_ followed by a chorus of grumpy protests and obscenities from the beds. A grungy looking man in his mid-forties stumbled in from behind a curtain made from a stained bed sheet.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" the man stated, slightly slurring his words.

"You can get rid of that damned bell, Sammy!" cried a voice from the large room.

"We were interested in a place to sleep," Franklin replied.

"I only have one mattress left so hopefully you two are looking to get really close tonight, but not too close! Sex is not allowed in this establishment."

"Well, looks like we have no other choice, we'll take it," replied Abigail.

"Okay, that'll be 25 caps a night. How long are you two planning on staying?"

"Just for the night."

Franklin removed the caps from his bag and handed them to Sammy.

"You'll be in bed 27 on the third row there," Sammy said pointing. "If you want some grub before you get your rest the meat tent next door has some decent grilled cuts."

"Thanks, I think we will," replied Franklin.

"Again, no hanky-panky or I smash your balls with my crowbar!"

"Yeesh, okay, we got it," Franklin replied, as the two of them turned to leave. "You hear that Abigail? If you even think about hanky or panky, your balls are done for!

The two walked over to the aptly named meat tent and went inside. In the center of the circus like tent was a hole where the smoke from the grill was being channeled out into the night sky. On the large grill were bits of what looked like Brahmin, iguana, Mole Rat, and Bloatfly meat. The grill master was sprinkling some kind of herbs and spices over the cuts of meat, which was a rare treat in the Wasteland. Franklin could feel a bit of drool escaping from his mouth and sucked it back up, glancing over at Abigail hoping she didn't see.

"That's gross," she said flatly looking straight ahead. Slowly a smirk spread across her face. At that moment despite the mud and dirt splotching her face she was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

They walked to the counter and ordered some grilled Brahmin and iguana since they had the caps and were sick of eating Mole Rat. The mystery seasonings helped to conceal the usual twang of radiated meat and made it tastier than any meat he had consumed in the Wasteland and probably even before. They washed down their meal with a few bottles of beer and sat near the fire talking and laughing well into the night. To Franklin they might as well have been the only two people in the tent. He hadn't felt this at peace in a very long time. The fire warmed their bodies from the cold desert night, the beer and meat warmed their bellies, and the conversation warmed their spirits.

Eventually the proprietor had to usher them out despite their objections. They walked arm in arm to their humble sleep shack, even the musky stench couldn't dampen their mood. They stumbled through the large sleeping quarters, occasionally stepping on a snoozing settler and enduring a slew of curses, eventually making their way to bed 27 on the third row. She lay down and he climbed onto the mattress behind her. She reached behind, taking hold of his arm and wrapped it over her shoulder like a blanket. They lay for a long time in silence and despite the smell from the mattress, or the cold air biting his extremities it was the happiest he had ever been and ever would be again.

Chapter 3: Fractured

Franklin awoke with a start. He couldn't remember the dream he had; just that it wasn't very pleasant. He was sweating profusely adding to the bodily fluids left on the mattress from previous tenants. Gradually peeling himself from the sticky bed he looked around dazed and confused. Squinting through the morning haze that clouded his vision he saw no sign of Abigail in the large barracks. After gathering his things he walked to the counter where Sammy was standing, reading a tattered copy of some Grognak the Barbarian comic.

"Hey, did you see my companion leave or did she leave you a message or anything?"

"She mentioned something about foraging for some supplies, but that's about it."

"Okay, thanks," Franklin replied.

Stepping out into the Nevada sun Franklin looked around to see if he could spot Abigail. He walked up and down the rows of shacks and tents that populated the small camp. When he could find no trace of her he decided to walk to the front gate to see if Hilary and Bill had seen her leave.

"Yeah, she left this morning, just a bit earlier. Said she was on the hunt for some supplies that might be nearby. I says to her that I was pretty sure there weren't no supplies that hadn't already been scavenged. She insisted that some feller in the camp told her there was a stash nearby, about half a mile northeast up the river on the Arizona side. I told her she should be able to get there via the old Kingman Washington Access Road if it was near the river."

"This doesn't feel right. Abigail wouldn't just trust some random person and head out there by herself," Franklin stated, worried thoughts exploding in his mind. "Alright, I gotta head out there and find her."

"Okay," replied Bill, opening the gate for him.

"Just be careful, ya hear," Hilary shouted as the gate closed behind him.

Franklin took the route that Bill suggested, but had seen no trace of Abigail. He departed the road and decided to walk north alongside what remained of the Colorado River. After walking for a while he saw some creatures shifting around in the distance. The closer he got he could see four large crab-like creatures huddled around something, snapping at it furiously. He started to run toward the gathering of mutated creatures. Pulling out his pistol he shot a bullet into the air to see if they would run away. Instead the creatures turned toward him and began scuttling in his direction, snapping with intent to maim. He aimed at the closest crab thing and fired at the creature's face effectively putting two bullets in its head. The remaining three creatures didn't slow down, continuing toward him, and fast. He shot at the next closest but missed. They were nearly on him now and he knew he had to find cover. He sprinted up an embankment and turned to see how much time he had to squeeze off a few shots.

They were still coming for him, but he aimed carefully and hit the legs of his closest pursuer, crippling its ability to chase him. The other two were still advancing, unaffected by their comrade's current state of being. He ran back north on the ridge of the embankment looking toward whatever it was the crab things were previously surrounding. Suddenly he realized what he was looking at. His stomach dropped. He could see bloody bits and pieces of what used to be a human body strewn out on the river bank. Please, don't let it be Abigail he thought. He had to go see. Had to be sure, but first he needed to kill the remaining things that were still coming for him. He turned and saw they were struggling to get up the hill. Deciding to use this to his advantage Franklin knelt down and took out his rifle aiming it carefully at the closest crab mutant. He tried to steady his panicked breathing and squeezed the trigger slowly. The bullet pierced its' chest and exited its back striking the other creature directly behind it. Both creatures came to halt, their bodies slowly sliding back down the hill.

Franklin quickly put his rifle back and ran toward the body. He couldn't make out any details; the body was so badly mutilated. Out of desperation he began picking through the bloody mess trying to figure out if it was Abigail. Lifting up a severed arm and shoulder he saw what looked like the upper torso. He could see it belonged to a man. Franklin stepped back and let out a sign of relief. Looking around for some kind of clue he saw footprints that lead up to the dead body. Franklin realized that the man had come from further up the river bank. He began walking quickly, desperately searching for any evidence of Abigail's presence. Further up river he saw what looked like a row boat with something lying beside it. Running at a full sprint he got to the lifeless body lying in the sand face down. Franklin grabbed the body and turned it over to see Abigail's cold, lifeless eyes open wide in a permanent expression of shock and fear. Slumping to his knees he began to sob heavily, burying his face into Abigail's neck.

Something deep within Franklin began to boil and grow suddenly fulminating in a scream of anguish. Caught in a fit of rage he removed a crow bar from his bag and charged at the crippled Mirelurk down the bank. He swung madly at the creatures claws crushing them both as it squealed in pain. He took the crow bar to its shell striking it over and over again, finally cracking it and smashing through to the soft meaty insides. He didn't stop. Franklin couldn't stop. Screaming in rage he swung the crow bar down repeatedly until finally he collapsed to his knees in exhaustion. He had reduced the Mirelurk to a puddle of blood, tissue, and broken shell.

Regaining his senses he walked back to Abigail's body to try and make sense of what had happened. He sat down next to her lifeless form and pulled her into his arms and lap rocking back and forth as if he were rocking a newborn back to sleep. He began weeping and lost all sense of time, his tears falling and mixing with her blood. When no more tears would come Franklin sat against the over turned boat, not feeling anything. His mind and body were numb, disconnected from the sand, the boat, the mottled brown sky, everything.

After an hour of staring out into nothingness he gently laid Abigail's body back down in the sand. He examined her body, noticing the bullet hole in her chest. Rising to his feet Franklin looked around the boat and saw Abigail's pistol. Walking back to the eviscerated body the crab things had torn apart he started to realize that this was her murderer. He must have led Abigail out here and then murdered her for her supplies. Digging through the viscera he found Abigail's pack. She must have shot him as he ran away. At that moment Franklin wished this man were still alive. He wanted to torture him. He wanted this man to feel the pain he now felt. Wanted to watch the light in the man's eyes fade away as he personally ended his life. The hatred in his heart became lodged. Unable to project it on the mainspring of his pain he knew it would be with him always; a scar on his soul, a tear in the fabric of his consciousness. He gazed down at the bloody, twisted face of Abigail's murderer and Franklin knew he would never be the same.

The sun was beginning to lower in the sky and Franklin discerned it would be wise to return to the settlement. He knew that many dangerous things came out at night in the Wasteland. But he felt feral and had no desire to plaster on the face of humanity. He wanted to die, yet again. He held Abigail's pistol to his temple.

"Commitment to humanity…" he whispered to himself, still staring down at the bloody face.

"A shining example… shining example…"

Time seemed to slow all around him and he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. He stroked the trigger of the gun gently, repeating those words to himself.

"A shining example…"

He so badly wanted to leave this place of torment. He wanted to end it all. But he couldn't, some invisible force held his finger, lowered his arm, and put the pistol back in Abigail's bag. _Why must I trudge forward? What purpose do I have in this living hell anymore?_ There was no answer in the wind rustling the dead tree tops, no answer in the toxic water lapping against the shore. _I have to leave this place,_ he thought. _I have to get away from here._

Franklin spent the remainder of the light of the day giving Abigail a somewhat proper burial. He climbed the embankment and found some rocks to place over the mound where her body now laid. After a few minutes of silence he removed all the supplies from Abigail's pack and tossed them into his bag. Flipping the row boat over Franklin examined it for damage. After finding no extensive impairment he tossed in his bag and the ore then dragged the vessel down to the water's edge. With the boat half in the water he jumped in pushing it from the bank with the force of his body. Steadying himself in the boat he looked over one last time at where Abigail now rested. As ridiculous as the thought was he kept staring, hoping, almost trying to will her body to burst up out of the grave screaming that she was still alive. But as he paddled up the river the grave did not stir, the sand did not move, and his heart remained shattered.

Chapter 4: Behind Closed Doors

"Dammit Diego, why are you still standing there? It is a simple order, is it not?"

"Yes sir, it's just…,"

"It's just what? Spit it out!"

"It's just… the people are wondering why all the rations are stored in your office and not somewhere else?

"There is nowhere else that's more secure. Where do they want it? In the common room? In the barracks? Where?"

"Some people are suspicious that you are taking whatever you want from the stores and not telling anyone."

"Why would I do something so petty? I am the leader here, Diego. If anyone has a problem with how I run things than they can by all means bring it up in our weekly meeting. I'm the one that stepped up after Aliyah died. If it wasn't for me this place would have fallen into anarchy."

"Sir, I don't know if…"

"Don't know what? Don't know if that's true? Without a leader society crumbles. These ravaging mutts wouldn't know what to do without me?"

"Commander Upham," Diego replied calmly. "You asked me to bring you any messages from the people and that is what I'm doing."

"Yes, you're right. It's just that I have held this post for the last six months and all I have heard is nothing but complaints. The people of Cheyenne Mountain are alive and well because of me and I wouldn't mind a little appreciation!"

"Sir, the people do appreciate what you have done, but they're just nervous about dwindling rations, and running short on clean water. We need parts to keep the water filtration system up and running and we need to go out and search for supplies and food rations. The doors have been sealed since you took over and we are going to eventually run out of basic necessities."

"I keep the doors closed for our safety. When's the last time we had to deal with Super Mutants, Ferals, or a Raider attack? This place was built to endure and according to my calculations we have plenty to survive on for the time being."

"And what if the water system breaks?"

"I don't live according to 'what-if's.' I live according to 'what-is.' If the water filtration system breaks or if we need more medical supplies then we will send a team out to get what we need then. Is that understood?"

"But sir…"

"Enough Diego, I have a headache and I am through talking about this, you are dismissed."

Diego rendered a half-hearted salute and walked out of Commander Jeremy Upham's office. Jeremy Upham was tall and thin aside from his odd paunch of a stomach with a face that was not unlike that of a weasel. He took up residence in the large vaulted room of the Cheyenne Mountain military complex after his predecessor Aliyah Cushing's mysterious demise in the Wasteland. Commander Upham leaned back in his chair rubbing his temples.

Standing to his feet, he walked to the supply room and picked through the military rations until he found his favorite, spaghetti dinner with a delicious pound cake for desert. He tore open the package and used the included heating element to heat up the meal; he lapped up the contents of the food pouch greedily, finally savoring the pound cake last. He walked over to the lose floor panel where he hid the evidence, slid it over and tossed the trash in. Placing the panel back in place he smiled to himself and dusted off his hands. He heard a buzz as he walked out of the supply room and back to his desk. He held down the intercom button and called out;

"Yes, what is it?"

"We have a situation at the main entrance," replied Diego.

"What situation?"

"There appears to be a man approaching the area. He's rummaging through some empty supply crates."

Upham opened the door and walked with Diego to the main entrance. He watched on the security camera as the stranger opened crate after crate searching for anything of use.

"Maybe he'll just leave after he has a look around," Upham said.

"Shouldn't we see if he needs some help?" Diego replied.

"We have enough faces to feed in here as it is. Plus we know nothing about this person."

They continued to watch as the man dug through all the containers until finally turning his attention to the large door. Approaching it, he looked around for some way to open the door. He tried the heavy handle but it was locked. He banged on the door with his fist.

"Hello! Is anyone in there?"

"This is Commander Upham of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, please make an about face and get right the hell out of here. There is nothing here for you," a voice from the speaker responded.

"Do you have anything you can spare? Food? Water? Stimpaks?" the stranger replied.

"What part of, 'there's nothing here for you' didn't you understand?"

"Wow, travelling around out here in the Wasteland really gives you a new perspective on the kindness of humanity."

Upham heard multiple voices behind him chime in with admonishments and requests to help the man. Growing annoyed he told them to quiet down.

"Listen, what if we trade some stuff?" asked the stranger.

"Sir, what if he has supplies we could use, maybe tools or spare parts for the filtration system?" Diego asked.

Upham thought for a second then turned to the intercom, "What's your name?"

"Franklin," the voice on the other side replied.

"Alright Franklin, here's the deal, if you go and find us some piping and any parts you might think will work for an industrial water filtration system then maybe we'll share some supplies with you?"

"What kind of supplies?"

"Whatever kind we deem fair in return for what you bring back."

"Hmmm, and what happens when I risk my life for these replacement parts and then you decide all I deserve for my services is a box of Sugar Bombs and a swift kick in the ass out the door?"

"You came here; we didn't come to you for help so you can…"

"And why exactly haven't you gone to look for parts yourselves?" Franklin interrupted. "I would figure that having a backup for a working water filtration system would be on the top of anyone's priority list out here."

Annoyed, Upham looked around the entry way room at the people staring at him. He could see in their smug faces that they were thinking the same exact thing.

"Not that it's any of your business but I have been more concerned for my people's safety than sending random search parties out to look for spare parts. There's no guarantee that there's anything of use around here anyway!" Upham retorted.

There was silence on the other end as Franklin contemplated his decision. Should he risk his life to search for something that he might not find or should he just keep moving on and hope to find a settlement with some much needed supplies? Franklin was exhausted from his travels. He had very little hope left in his heart and travelling by himself had given him far too much time to dwell on what he had lost. A part of him wanted human interaction, but the other part of him was reminded that the little human interaction he did experience was rarely pleasant. As he stood there staring at the giant door with what he imagined was a huddled mass of humanity waiting behind it, his heart hurt. He longed to see Abigail again. His thoughts were interrupted by that same slimy voice from the intercom.

"Well, what's your decision? We aren't going to stand here all day waiting for you to decide. Will you look for what we need or not?"

"No, it's not worth the risk when you don't even know if there are parts around here," Franklin answered.

"Fine, your loss!"

"For all the other people in there, good luck surviving if this guy's your leader," Franklin called out.

"Get the hell out of here before something very painful happens to you!"

"Commitment to humanity…a shining example," Franklin grunted to himself as he started to pick up his things. He stood for a minute collecting his thoughts when he heard the screech of metal against metal. A small portal in the giant door had slid open and a box of Sugar Bombs, three cans of Cram and five bottles of purified water tumbled out. Franklin walked over to the supplies wearing a confused expression.

A different voice crackled through the intercom; "A little something to help. Sorry there isn't more, it's some extra stuff I had in my personal stash."

"Ah, a new voice, may I ask who this is?"

"My name is Diego," he replied.

"Well Diego, thanks for the supplies. Nice touch with the Sugar Bombs."

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that. Oh and just a heads up, if you head east after you leave the tunnel you'll hit Fort Carson, might be some supplies there somewhere," Diego said.

"Thanks again Diego."

"Stay safe out there."

Franklin turned and started back down the tunnel towards the outside world.

Chapter 5: The Fort and the Springs

Crossing old highway 115 Franklin continued east toward Fort Carson. After taking a right down a street he came to the ruins of what looked like an old school. Entering the doorway he paused for a second allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkened building. Removing the rifle from his back he took the normal preparatory posture he had learned while rummaging through countless sites during his travels. He came to understand that many dangers lurked in this broken and twisted world. The very worst seemed to be the only things that survived atrocities.

He walked into one of the classrooms and was taken aback by the little skeletons that lay in broken heaps under the remaining desks. He was mostly immune to the horrors of the Wasteland, but he was still shaken when reminded that children weren't spared from all this death and suffering. After finding a few useful supplies he explored the surrounding neighborhood and collected whatever was salvageable. It looked like Fort Carson had mostly been picked clean of any useful supplies.

Coming to an old grocery store he went inside despite the thought that it might be a waste of time. Franklin heard the low grunting of something or more accurately some things slowly moving around the store. In the far southeast corner of the building he saw a faint glow that looked to be moving around. He had seen that glow before and the demon it belonged to. He froze in his tracks not wanting to make a single noise. Realizing the death trap he had walked into he slowly began to back up through the entry way. His heel came down slowly to the crescendo of crunching glass. A sudden loud screech came from somewhere far too close.

"Ah hell…" Franklin whispered as he pivoted and sprinted out through entryway. The growling and snarling Feral Ghouls burst out of the store in ones and twos as Franklin bolted across the parking lot looking frantically for some kind of safe refuge. To the northeast he saw a gas station with a flat roof and as luck would have it, it appeared that a car had crashed head first into the building. Darting towards it, lungs pumping, he prayed he could make the jump. With a baker's dozen worth of Feral Ghouls hot on his heels he reached the vehicle, scrambled up to the hood, and leapt with all his strength, grabbing onto the gutter that stuck out from the roof. The gutter gave way slightly causing his heart to drop into the soles of his tattered boots.

Thankfully the ghouls weren't coordinated enough to jump onto the top of the car and he heard them slam violently into the metal screaming ferociously. He felt one of the creatures' fingers graze the bottom of his boot before slinging his body over the top and onto the roof of the gas station. He stood slowly, trying to suck in oxygen with his lungs burning. He looked over the edge at the mass of twisted carnality that, at a very primal level, wanted to sink their teeth into him. Surprising even himself he began laughing madly at the creatures as they gnashed and clawed, mouths gaping at him. One managed to climb to the hood of the car, but still couldn't jump to the roof where he stood. He immediately recognized an opportunity to allay his current predicament. Not wanting to waste bullets he removed the bat from his bag, bent over like a golfer teeing up, and swung the bat connecting with the top of the Feral Ghouls' skull, bashing in the monsters brains. It fell lifeless from the car and a few minutes later another beast clambered onto the vehicle. Oblivious to its compatriot's fate it stood, grasping ineffectively at Franklin.

"All right, wash, rinse, repeat," Franklin said out loud, teeing up for his next shot.

Three hours passed and most of the ghouls had been dispatched. Franklin's shoulders and back ached fiercely. There were three ghouls left, including the Glowing One he had spotted in the corner of the market. That one he knew from experience he did not want to get close to. He finished the remaining ghouls off with his rifle. With night fast approaching and the sky clear; Franklin decided to set up camp on the roof. He would head north the following day.

The next morning Franklin began walking north having heard about a large settlement in what used to be Colorado Springs before the Great War of 2077 destroyed all that was known and made the world what it now was. He could imagine beautiful green trees where their stark bones now stood desperately clinging to some semblance of life, much like the whole planet was now doing. After passing a shrinking, brown lake he came to a sign that read; "Cheyenne Mountain Resort." Entering the main gate Franklin saw what looked like apartment buildings dotted throughout the resort. Large portions of the buildings had been blasted open by the bombs that dropped so many years ago, and decay and nature were taking the rest. He decided to take a look around to see if there was anything of value left.

After searching through the first building and finding nothing he made his way out the door and found himself face to face with a Brahmin. The altered beast stared at him indifferently.

"Nothing in there, nothing in any of these buildings," a gruff voice stated from the other side of the mutated livestock. "They've been picked clean. I should know, I just did a thorough check through all of 'em."

Franklin breathed a sigh of relief, realizing the man was a trader and not someone more nefarious.

"So, what's your name stranger?" the grizzled trader said walking into view from behind the Brahmin.

"Franklin, how about you?"

"Name's Joe," he replied.

"I assume you're a trader? Hmmm, trader Joe; has a nice ring to it."

"Yep, based outta Peterson, been out scavenging for a few days now. Came across this place and thought I could find something in this complex, but there's not a damn thing of value left. I found a couple bars of soap, some ashtrays, a toy car, and a couple of stuffed bears that some weirdo put in, ummm interesting positions."

"Peterson? Is that a settlement near here?" Franklin asked.

"Yessir, biggest settlement in the area. Where you comin' from?"

"South."

"Just south huh? Okay, I won't pry. If you're looking for a settlement I'm heading to Peterson now. You could accompany me if you want."

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind, plus you can help me out and be my point man since ya got a rifle. Prolly see some ferals' or maybe a Yao Guai if we're very unlucky. There'd be a bottle of Pure and a can of Cram in it for ya."

"Joe," Franklin said extending his hand, "you have yourself a deal."

The pair arrived at Peterson mostly unscathed. They had only come across a couple of Feral Ghouls along the way which Franklin had easily dispatched from a distance. The Peterson settlement was one of the more organized settlements he had ever seen. They had a strong security force, well stoked shops, and ample sleeping areas. Joe took him to the main merchant area and said his goodbyes as he led his Brahmin over to one of the stalls. Franklin stood in the middle of the large open hanger looking around at all the booths selling a variety of food, drinks, clothing, trinkets, and medical supplies. After spending a good amount of caps on some necessities he walked to the inn. He decided to spoil himself and rented his own room as opposed to a cot in a shared sleeping area.

That night Franklin felt like royalty. He ate deliciously seasoned Brahmin steak, washing it down with a glass of whiskey. He got to take a hot shower and sleep in an actual bed with sheets and a pillow. As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling with a satisfied stomach he couldn't help but think of Abigail. He couldn't understand why she haunted him so much. They only knew each other briefly. However, he couldn't escape the feeling that she was and would be the only bright spot in an otherwise dark and broken life.

He pushed the thoughts of her from his brain and his mind drifted to something the trader spoke to him about on the way to Peterson. Joe had spoken glowingly of the leadership here at Peterson and credited them with the success and survival of the settlement. It made him think of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex and its dismal leader. Franklin had seen those kinds of leaders time and time again in Vault 11. He knew how miserable things were when there were weak and corrupt leaders in place. Even in their brief meeting Franklin could tell that Upham was that kind of leader. He sensed it. Franklin rolled to his side and closed his eyes eventually falling into a fitful sleep that didn't at all match the quality of his bed. He knew he shouldn't have spent those extra caps.

The next morning before checking out of the room Franklin took another hot shower for good measure and to get his cap's worth. During a tasty breakfast of scrambled Deathclaw eggs and roasted iguana, Franklin settled it in his mind to return to Cheyenne Mountain and deliver what parts he could find along the way. The people there didn't have to suffer just because they had a poor leader.

Chapter 6: Declivity

Franklin paused in front of the long tunnel leading to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. With all the spare parts he found he started through the tunnel. Halfway down he heard a deep throated growling noise echo from the entrance.

"That can't be good," Franklin said to himself as he paused and turned his ear toward the tunnel entrance. At that point Franklin could barely see anything in front or behind him. He heard the growl again along with the swift patter of footsteps coming down the tunnel toward him. The footsteps seemed to multiply as did the growling. Franklin broke into a sprint for the main entrance. Reaching the large metal door he began pounding furiously and shouting for someone to let him in.

"What's that banging?" asked Upham walking into the main entry way.

"Sir, it's him, it's Franklin and he looks like he's in trouble!" Diego replied.

Upham looked at the camera feed and saw the man banging wildly on the door constantly looking over his shoulder.

"What is the matter?" Upham asked through the intercom.

"Hurry, open the door!" exclaimed Franklin.

"What's going on? Why are you in a panic?" asked Upham.

"Ghouls!" yelled Diego pointing to one of the security feeds.

Walking over to the surveillance panel Upham could see a group of Feral Ghouls running toward the main entrance. Suddenly behind him he heard the main entrance door klaxon start to wail as the large door began to open.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Diego?"

Franklin didn't hesitate and rolled under the door as it slowly opened. Upham drew his side arm and levelled it at Franklin who was now standing and telling Diego to close the door. Diego was one step ahead and had already pressed the button to lower the door back down just as the pack of Feral Ghouls reached the door crashing into it violently. One ghoul tried to scramble underneath the door as it closed down on its' back, severing the mutant in half. Franklin stomped down hard on the ghouls' skull silencing the monster's furious screeching.

"Put your hands behind your head, now!" yelled Upham still pointing his pistol at Franklin.

"Alright, don't shoot!" Franklin shouted back, raising his hands.

"Diego, search him, remove his bag and weapons," commanded Upham.

Diego reluctantly did as he was commanded as Franklin reluctantly complied.

"Listen…" started Franklin.

"Shut up!" snapped Upham, cutting off the visitor. "You're lucky I don't pull this trigger right now! And you Diego, what were you thinking opening that door? You put us all in danger. I ought to feed both of you to those things outside."

"Sir," Diego said calmly as he searched Franklin. "He was going to get ripped apart by those things."

"Better him than us," retorted the commander. "For all we know he lead those ghouls here to take us all out."

"And how would I have avoided being ghoul chow in the process?" Franklin quipped.

"Why are you here?"

"I brought back some spare parts I came across. I think the ghouls tracked my scent or something."

"He did good sir," said Diego as he took out replacement parts for the water filtration system. "Where did you find these?"

"Oh, here and there," Franklin replied smirking.

"You need to wipe that grin off your face, or have you not noticed you still have a gun pointed at your head?"

"Hey, I just wanted to bring these items and exchange what I found with some supplies."

"Oh is that so?" asked Upham. "Diego, bring the parts to my private chambers. Barstowe, keep your weapon on our guest until we get back. You, what's your name again?"

"Franklin."

"Franklin, I suggest you not move a muscle until we have decided if we actually need these parts and if so what you deserve for them, if anything."

Upham turned and walked out of the main entry way followed by Diego carrying the bag of parts. Once behind closed doors Upham grabbed the bag and started taking out the various tubes, piping, valves, and other components that Franklin managed to salvage.

"Diego, don't you realize we could have let him die out there and taken these parts after the ghouls had finished the job? Now we either kill him ourselves or lose some of our supplies. I'm not inclined to give up what we need to some lone wanderer!"

"Sir, we can't kill a man that risked his life to help us! The people wouldn't stand for it." Diego pleaded.

"If it's them or their families they'll stand for it. Plus, we can make it look like self-defense. We call him in here to discuss his payment then tell the people that he came at me with a knife he had hidden in his boot. Boom, problem solved! We keep our supplies and these spare parts."

It was at that moment that Diego realized this whole scenario seemed oddly familiar. He thought back to the events surrounding the death of the previous Commander. How Upham wanted to accompany Commander Cushing on her trip outside. How he survived and her body was never recovered. Why did he not see it before? Maybe deep down he had always known but didn't want to admit they had a murderer for a leader. What could he do now?

"It's decided then," blurted Upham rousing Diego from thought. "Go and get our guest so we can give him his payment. Make sure it's obvious that we are calling him in here to discuss his reward. I have a knife we can plant on him. I trust you are with me on this Diego?"

"Y-yes sir," Diego stammered, departing the office.

Upham sat at his desk relishing another win in his book. Ambition drove him to the top and ambition was going to keep him there. He had worked hard to get here and he was not about to lose face to some drifter from the Wasteland. At one point he had two other officers at the complex he would have to contend with to take Commander Cushing's spot. One by one he had removed the competition covering his tracks with such precision he almost hated that he couldn't boast about them.

An accident with a malfunctioning door here, a slow untraceable poisoning there. Then of course the grand finale' of taking out Cushing. That was his favorite, his magnum opus. He closed his eyes and remembered the look on her face when he took a baseball bat to both of her knees and watched from a distance as the feral dogs finished the job. His daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of Diego and Franklin coming into the room. He opened his eyes to two guns being aimed at him from the men that had just entered the room.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Upham exclaimed, standing to his feet.

"Hold it right there Commander! It's your turn to put your hands behind your head." replied Franklin.

"Diego, why are you pointing your gun at me and not the prisoner?"

"Prisoner? I thought he was our guest," replied Diego.

"Guards! Barstowe! Get in here!"

"They're not coming Commander. They know the truth, just as I do, you're a murderer. I know you killed Commander Cushing or at the very least you were responsible for her death."

"And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?"

"I've always had my suspicions, but it became more apparent when you were so quick in suggesting we murder this man to save a few supplies."

During the exchange Franklin could feel the hatred creeping back into his mind. The sneaky look on Upham's weaselly face as he shot quick glances downward made his decision much easier. He aimed his pistol and clipped Upham in the left shoulder knocking him to the ground.

"Why did you do that?" Diego shouted. "We were supposed to take him alive!"

"He's alive," Franklin said calmly. "Now, go look under his desk."

Walking over to where he laid Franklin stepped on the shoulder he had just seasoned with lead pushing down with his weight. Upham let out a scream and immediately began pleading for his life.

"Please spare me, I'm so sorry, please don't kill me!"

"And what exactly are you sorry for, murdering your former commander, or planning to murder me?"

"For all of it, just let me live, please!" Upham cried.

Diego looked under the desk and saw a red button.

"What is this? What does this button do?" Diego asked.

"It turns on a turret programmed to fire at anyone that isn't me." Upham coughed out.

"You're going to go out there and confess everything to your people, and then we'll see what they have to say," Franklin stated.

They led Upham out to the main entry way where the people of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex were waiting to see what was happening. Commander Upham, with the not so gentle persuasion of Franklin, began confessing everything. The people he had murdered, the rations he had stolen, everything. Some of the people broke down crying, some glared at Upham, some shouted insults and threats. Diego calmed the angry mob and motioned for Franklin to speak.

"People of Cheyenne Mountain Complex you don't know me and after this sad excuse for a leader I don't expect you to trust me completely right now either. But what I ask for at this moment is calm and order. Many of us, myself included, could just let rage get the best of us and put a bullet in this man's head. We all know he deserves worse. However, we need to rise above that primal urge and still allow a place for justice to be served. If we descend into a murderous rage, we are no better than him. With that said I suggest we sleep on it and allow some time before we decide Upham's fate."

Everyone agreed to the proposal. The doctors' stopped Upham's bleeding and the guards secured him in the holding cell commonly used to hold people when they got too drunk or were caught stealing from other residents. The next morning Upham was brought to the main entry way and handcuffed to a chair in the middle of the room. The night before Franklin had discovered a book about ancient Rome including an old Roman tradition that decided people's fate in the gladiator ring and it gave him an idea. He explained to the people that thumbs up meant Upham would be exiled into the Wasteland to fend for himself. Thumbs down meant he would be taken away from the complex and executed for his crimes. Franklin also had read about another Roman tradition involving a rather brutal execution technique; this he kept to himself.

"Now we vote!" shouted Franklin.

Upham looked helplessly around the room as thumb after thumb pointed downward. There was not a single thumb pointing upward.

"Jeremy Upham your fate has been decided. For your crimes you will be taken away from the complex by me and a small contingent of soldiers. At the place of our choosing you will be suspended by your hands from a tree and left to breath your last."

"No! You can't do this!" Upham screamed at the top of his lungs.

He was still screaming for mercy when the butt of Diego's gun smashed into his temple rendering Upham unconscious.

"Happy trails commander," Franklin said.

The doctors administered a sedative to ensure a continued state of cooperation from Upham. After ensuring the Feral Ghouls had left the area around the main door the team of soldiers lead by Diego and Franklin with Upham slung over his shoulder, exited the complex. They could hear the ghouls stirring in the tunnel ahead. Two guards armed with laser rifles and night vision took point. They efficiently executed five ghouls with very little effort, turning them into piles of ash. After walking a few miles along the ridge of the mountain complex Franklin ordered the team to stop. Franklin tossed Upham to the ground with a grunt, snapping him back to reality.

"You brought this on yourself," Franklin said coldly starting to dig through his bag. He pulled out a large hammer and two long, thick nails. The soldiers looked around at each other unsure of what these implements were going to be used for. Franklin took the step ladder Diego had been carrying and set it up next to a tree. He felt separate from himself as he moved, as if outside his body, watching himself. Taking the hammer and nails Franklin climbed up the step ladder and ordered the soldiers to lift him off the ground and up against the tree. Despite being bound Upham started squirming like a worm being baited on a hook. Grabbing his hands still cuffed together Franklin held them firmly against the coarse bark of the tree. He had read that to hold the body the nails needed to enter at the wrist. Holding the hands still was quite a task as Upham wriggled despite the guards' best efforts.

A bubble of anger burst in Franklin's mind and he struck Upham in the face with the hammer smashing his nose like a bug on a wall. Upham became still, his head slumped forward. Franklin repositioned Upham's hands and put the nail against the skin of his wrist. The man who had escaped the horrors of Vault 11 closed his eyes and saw himself on the edge of a cliff with an abyss of pure darkness below him. He felt the tug of the darkness deep in his stomach. He desperately yearned for the embrace of the nothingness he stood staring down into. As the solidity of oblivion enveloped his mind he felt the hammer collide hard against the head of the nail.

Franklin opened his eyes to a gush of blood streaming down onto the head of its' former resident. He continued to hammer at the nail furiously until Upham's wrists were firmly attached to the tree. Climbing down from the step ladder he handed the hammer and remaining nail to Diego who wore an expression of shock. One of the soldiers turned and vomited into some brown shriveled hedges. The two soldiers holding Upham were now splattered in crimson looking at Franklin in horror.

"Hold your positions men." Franklin commanded. "Diego, nail this murderous bastards feet to that tree and let's be done with this."

Diego nodded and reluctantly walked toward Upham who was now shaking and crying, his screams of pain muffled by the gag in his mouth. Diego did as he was told and with each strike he felt the hatred he had pent up toward his former commander spew forth like the blood that now covered his hands. Faster and faster he struck the nail losing all sense of his surroundings until a hand gripped his shoulder and he heard a distant muffled voice calling for him to stop. He collapsed backward onto the ground, tears streaming down his face. The men all stepped away from the tree looking up at the ghastly work they had completed.

"A shining example," whispered Franklin.

Epilogue:

In the weeks and months that followed the people of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex thrived under the guidance of their newly appointed leader…Commander Franklin Sallow. The group of survivors gained dominance in the area surrounding the complex and beyond. Long into his life Franklin was succeeded by his son, and on down the line so that by the time his great-grandson, Edward Sallow, took over as leader, the group had grown into a legion. Acquiring his family's obsession with ancient Rome he would eventually adopt the name of Caesar and turn his eyes to the west.

2016/02/05/the-lone-survivor-of-vault-11-a-fallout-new-vegas-story/

SeeAverageGeek


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